


i know better but you're still around

by allisonattheorpheum



Series: the evermore collection [4]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, bring your tissues, except, funny thing about the cross over, juke is not prominent but its there, the boys cross over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:48:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28720785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allisonattheorpheum/pseuds/allisonattheorpheum
Summary: when luke, reggie, and alex took their bow at the end of “stand tall,” julie knew that that was the end. she knew, as soon as she was alone again on the orpheum’s stage, that they wouldn’t be waiting for her to get home, wouldn’t be waiting to relive the night’s performance with starry eyes and post-show highs.(ray, emily, and julie all know loss. they also all know that loss isn't always the end.)
Relationships: Alex Mercer & Julie Molina, Julie Molina & Luke Patterson, Julie Molina & Reggie Peters, Julie Molina/Luke Patterson
Series: the evermore collection [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2097033
Comments: 14
Kudos: 47





	i know better but you're still around

**Author's Note:**

> title and inspiration from “marjorie” by taylor swift.  
> part of my _evermore_ collection.  
> i do not own the lyrics to “unsaid emily” or “bright.”

i. ray

grief was a funny thing to navigate when kids were in the picture. ray saw rose every day in julie and carlos, even when he least expected to. he hadn’t shied away from showing his kids that it was okay to be an adult and show emotion, that it was okay to be a man and cry. he had tried to be a rock for them, day after day, a never-wavering support, but that wasn’t always easy when just the way they smiled or frowned reminded him of rose and shook him to his core.

in carlos, ray found rose’s adventure, her humor and her curiosity. sometimes, he would tell a joke in the exact same rhythm as rose would have, and ray would laugh, wondering how his wife’s mannerisms could have ended up replicating themselves like dna in their son. when he’d taken pictures of their house for the realtor and carlos thought that maybe the orbs in the studio were rose and some new friends, ray couldn’t tell him that that was exactly what his mom would have said, too.

in julie, of course, was rose’s voice, her creativity and style. whenever julie wore something that had belonged to her mom, ray’s breath would catch in his throat. when she would sing something that rose had helped her write, it was like she was back again, singing to ray through their daughter. 

seeing julie on stage at the orpheum had been equally one of the proudest and one of the saddest moments of ray’s life. julie was incredible, captivating, and he had never imagined it would be so overwhelming seeing her perform. for a while, he was sure she never would again. but there she she had been, with her unbelievable hologram band, and his heart swelled with pride for his little _niña_.

but rose hadn’t been there, would never see _this_ julie, stronger and more determined than ever to make her dreams happen. the idea had broken ray’s heart. 

and in his closet, shoeboxes full of her notes and documents and pictures sat untouched, memories of their life together that were now his to keep safe. he looked through them, searching for some kind of guidebook to being a parent by himself. julie hadn’t been herself the past few days and he didn’t want to pry but it scared him, the idea of her going back to that musicless, unreachable place.

“you were always so good with julie,” he whispered to rose, wherever she was. “i just wish i knew how to help her.”

he reached for another shoebox of random notes and drawings. when he lifted the lid off, the first thing he saw was a faded piece of paper with the words _canción para un día lluvioso_ written across the top. ray smiled. _song for a rainy day_. he picked up the paper, read through the lyrics. he remembered rose singing them when carlos was a just a baby and her voice was so loud in his head that it was like she was standing right next to him. he wasn’t the musician of the family, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

“thank you,” he said before leaving the room, the smell of dahlias wafting around him.

ii. emily

twenty-five years had gone by and emily still felt the absence of her only child every day. she had apologized to him, in her head and otherwise, more times than she could count but she remembered every one. the guilt ate away at her at the most mundane of times: making breakfast, driving to the grocery store, getting the mail. _you could have stopped him_ , she told herself, over and over again, even if she didn’t believe it. she could have tried harder.

but, eventually, with the guilt and the apologies and the never-healing empty space inside of her came the signs.

she’d been sitting in her favorite chair, doing a crossword puzzle, when she just _knew_ there was someone standing next to her. there wasn’t, of course, but she couldn’t shake the feeling, that gut feeling that no one else would understand but that was significant to her. when luke was little, maybe eight or nine, he’d stand next to her as she’d relax in her chair, waiting for her to be done with whatever project she was working on so he could show her the tower he built or the guitar he made out of cardboard. her brain told her she was alone, but she thought maybe a part of her son was still there next to her.

there was luke’s birthday. she’d made his favorite chocolate cake, as she always did, and sat down with mitch at the table. it had been there again, the instinctive feeling that someone was with them, that _luke_ was with them, but they were alone. mitch had lit the candles and they extinguished, not like they had just snuffed out on their own but like someone had blown them out. even mitch had looked around, had looked for his son, looked for some light in their dark.

and then there was the other day, when a girl she had never seen before showed up at their door. her name was julie, she had said, and that she had a song luke had written, a song for emily. she didn’t know if she had taken a single breath as she read through the lyrics; the sloppy handwriting she had revisited in old schoolwork should have been faded and worn from time, but it was bold against the page.

_when things got loud / one of us running out /_

_i should have turned around / but i had too much pride_

emily’s hand had been shaking against her chest. those were words luke had written but they felt so much like what she had wanted to tell him, too. as her eyes had scanned the page, she could have sworn she could hear luke’s voice singing to her.

julie had described the studio as a happy place, one with magic, one where luke could follow his dreams. and now, holding that song in her hands once again, cherishing every line, emily finally believed that to be true. she’d lost her son, yes, in more ways than one, and she could never change that. but he’d found his passion, and he’d found his happiness, and he’d apologized to her the only way he knew how: through his music.

and for the first time in twenty-five years, emily felt some kind of peace.

iii. julie 

when luke, reggie, and alex took their bow at the end of “stand tall,” julie knew that that was the end. she knew, as soon as she was alone again on the orpheum’s stage, that they wouldn’t be waiting for her to get home, wouldn’t be waiting to relive the night’s performance with starry eyes and post-show highs.

she knew that her boys were gone.

her grief came slowly. unlike when her mom had died, their absence wasn’t immediately noticeable. they were -- no, they _had been_ \-- ghosts, after all; they had come and gone as they pleased, and just because she didn’t see them the next morning didn’t mean they wouldn’t show up later in the day. 

but, of course, they didn’t.

so her grief came slowly, each moment like walking on eggshells, never knowing when something might happen, when she might remember _something_ that would wrap a fist around her heart and squeeze. but those moments came, one by one, and julie got through them. what other choice did she have?

for reggie, it was one of his spare flannels tucked into the back of her closet. he’d been wearing it one morning when she was doing her hair before school and had asked if she wanted him to keep her company. they’d sat on her bed as she braided, a heavy silence around them.

“you’re quiet today,” reggie had said.

julie had shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. “just one of those days.”

reggie had jumped at the opportunity to try and cheer her up. he’d gone on and on about how cool ray was, how much carlos made him laugh. he’d talked about how it took him a while to figure out how to use carlos’ laptop but, once he did, he’d quickly become a ‘world wide expert.’ that was reggie in a nutshell: he’d do anything to cheer her up, do anything to make her smile or laugh, and she loved him for it. 

“you always know just what to say, reg,” she had said, time and time again.

she didn’t know when he’d snuck the flannel into her closet, but she stood motionless when she saw it, blinked a few times in case she was seeing things. she reached back and pulled it off of the hanger. the fabric was soft and worn against her fingers. she shrugged into it, brought it up over her shoulders. it was entirely too big for her, the sleeves hanging past her fingers, but she wrapped her arms around herself, closed her eyes.

she could swear she heard the echo of his voice from behind her, saying something like _we’re okay, julie._

*

for alex, it was the couch in the studio (which, of course, she had been avoiding since the night of the orpheum). when she finally went back in, it was like the space exhaled when she opened the doors. all of julie’s memories with her mom were combined now with her memories of the boys and they played on a never-ending film reel in her head. she could have sworn she saw reggie goofing around in the loft, luke at the dartboard, the ghosts of her ghosts faded to nothing more than fog. 

she and alex had sat on the couch countless times. for julie, he was so much more than just her drummer; he was her confidant, her shoulder to lean on (she would have given so much to be able to _actually_ do that before he was gone). he would sit and listen to her for as long as she needed, on the days when reggie didn’t need to fill the silence and she had too much to say. 

she sat on the couch, in her spot in the middle, just like always. she cleared her throat.

“i don’t know if you all can even hear me but… ” she trailed off, her eyes welling up with tears. “you weren’t going to be around forever, i get that, but i don’t know what i’m supposed to do next. i’m happy i helped you but why can’t i feel anything but sad right now?” she took a deep breath, the exhale harsh and shaky.

“i love you guys and i’ll never forget you. i hope wherever you are, you’re together and i hope i can make you proud of me.”

julie felt something solid knock into her shoulder. she was alone, she knew that, but she just couldn’t help but feel like alex was sitting next to her. she tilted her head to the right, as if laying it on his shoulder, knowing that if anyone walked in right now she’d look completely ridiculous. 

the feeling of an arm wrapping around her, pulling her in closer, sent goosebumps over her skin.

*

and for luke, it was his voice. it was the first thing she knew about him, before his name, even before she knew he was a ghost, she had heard his voice. from the first lines of “now or never” to the final notes of “stand tall,” he could captivate any crowd, could draw julie out of any corner of her mind. 

julie carried luke’s voice with her everywhere she went. she’d be brushing her teeth and his verse in “edge of great” would be her soundtrack; she’d get in bed for the night and listen as he sang “flying solo” like it was the first time and he’d taken the poem from her dream box just that afternoon. then there were the songs they hadn’t yet gotten a chance to finish. one, called “sunshine,” was something of a love song, and julie would never forget the way he had looked at her, eyes burning into her own, as he sang about finding the one that could make his darkest days turn the brightest blue. 

his voice wasn’t made for just singing, though. reggie had talked about whatever popped into his head, alex had listened and reassured her whenever she needed it, but _luke_ … with luke she had said things she’d never found the courage to before. she had told him that she was scared, terrified that she’d let her dad down, worried that she wouldn’t be good enough for carlos now that rose was gone and she would have to be something more than just a sister to him. she could have told him anything and he would have responded like he always did: quietly, with his eyes focused on hers, “you can do anything, jules.” 

and, as she sat at the piano now, fingers lingering on the keys, his voice came to her like a whisper right at her ear, an exhale warm against that sensitive place behind the lobe. _i feel something around me now_ … julie sucked in a breath, played the melody of the next line, the sound like crystal, clear but ready to break. she opened her mouth, hesitated, and started to sing. she got to the chorus, her voice full of longing. “we will fight to shine together,” she sang. her voice cracked and she shook her head to herself, pulled her fingers off of the keys. 

as she bowed her head and started to curl in on herself, wanting to block out everything she possibly could, luke’s voice found her again. _and when i feel lost and alone, i know that i can make it home_. julie smiled, looked around the room at the spots that alex, reggie, and luke would make their own during rehearsal. her band may be gone, but she’d hold them with her wherever she went.

her voice burst out of her. “bright forever.”

\--


End file.
